


Under My Skin

by Mianmaru



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, British men acting British, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, It was for a case but not really, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sherlock is a Tease, Tattoo!lock, Tattoos, tattooing at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mianmaru/pseuds/Mianmaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaning back, John checked his handiwork for flaws. Finding none, he applied the cool ointment and heard Sherlock sigh in relief. Trying to appear unperturbed, he let his hand glide over the slick wound for the last time. His fingers following the path the tattoo gun had taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under My Skin

This. This was one of the many times John couldn’t make sense of his life. He was feeling completely out of his depths with his head hovering centimeters from Sherlock’s groin, the panting consulting detective splayed out in front of him, only clad in a pair of purple silk pants. 

  
  


~*~

 

At first Sherlock was reluctant when Lestrade called. Maybe, and even though he’d never admit it, because of having just finished a rather draining case of blackmail that left both him and John exhausted and hungry. Additionally, he held little interest in bank robbers or banks in general. For some reason he always connected them with a very special kind of people.

 

Posh, arrogant, egocentric, condescending.

 

But then Lestrade said the only thing that could make Sherlock take on a case in that area.

 

_ ….couldn’t be caught for 7 years despite an international team…. _

  
  


Of course, Sherlock didn’t show his glee before he hung up agreeing to take the case. 

 

3 hours, two cups of tea and a pack of biscuits later, a young man in uniform handed John a disk containing the CCTV footage of 12 robberies.

  
  
  


“This is not funny, Lestrade!” Sherlock yelled angrily.

 

“Are you serious? Do your minions actually have eyes or are they just plain stupid?”

 

“No! No! This is easy enough for you to solve on your own. An ape could… Lestrade?”

 

The mobile was thrown onto the couch in a huff.

  
  


“So, you solved it then?” John enquired, ignoring Sherlock’s outburst 

“After only watching seven of the robberies?” He put the required amount of awe into it to make sure he’d get an answer.

 

“Look at the customers, John. And I mean… really look at them!” Sherlock started the last video from the beginning and waited for John to catch up. Before, he hadn’t really payed attention to anything else beside the robber and his repeating course of action.  _ Wait for the Security Guard to have a fag outside  _ (How did he know?) _ , walk through the line without queuing up, wave a gun at the cashier and leave quickly but unhurried before the guard was finished smoking and anybody could actually notice what was happening. _

 

The video ended and Sherlock confidently started the next one.Then the next. And the next. John began to understand.

 

It was always the same person. Supposedly. In every single frame, just barely within the camera angle, was a small man with faded jeans and a rather impressive forearm tattoo.

 

John clicked on the last file.The London robbery. Instantly, Sherlock began to pace.

  
  
  
  


“...the problem is…. It doesn’t fit!” Sherlock murmured to himself in frustration.

 

“I’m sorry. What?” John had tried to keep up but his flat mate’s voice was close to a whisper by the end of his deduction and the sting in his eyes from watching all the videos didn’t help his concentration in the slightest.

 

“The design, John! The lettering.” Sherlock growled in annoyance.

 

“Oh.” John opened another window and played a random file from the disk alongside the last one. “Oh!”

 

“Yes, John, Oh!” The rolling pair of eyes was audible.

  
  


As the violin was being removed from it’s wooden confines, John decided that there was nothing left for him to do than finally (FINALLY) getting some sleep.

 

~*~

 

When John came down the stairs the next morning, Sherlock jumped up from the couch and rubbed his hands together. Without acknowledging the consulting detective’s obvious excitement, he passed the open door to the parlor and headed down the stairs to get some sandwiches from Speedy’s. The look of irritation on Sherlock’s face made him grin only a little as he ordered their breakfast.

 

.

 

One bite of bacon-cheese-lettuce was all he was granted before Sherlock placed a metal trunk on the coffee table in front of him. Chewing, he flicked it open before disbelief made him push his breakfast aside.

 

“What is this?”

 

“A tattoo gun, obviously.” 

 

“Sherlock! I can see that this is a tattoo gun, and needles and...black ink, gloves, disinfectant, ointment and… cling film?” He asked distracted.

 

“You put it around the wound after you…”

 

“After I what, Sherlock?” John interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I am quite certain that I found the tattooist that covered the lettering on the suspects forearm but she’s only taking customers who need a cover up after they’ve sent her a picture of the area in question. I need to talk to her but I don’t have a tattoo to cover and Lestrade made it quite clear that the Yard would not pay for me to get one just for the sake of the case.”  The last words were spoken in a ridiculing tone that didn’t sound one bit like the DI in question.

 

“No!” John said firmly before pulling the plate with sandwiches closer again.

 

“You don’t even know what…”

 

“Oh, believe me, I DO know what you want me to do. And the answer is still no!” John wasn’t able to enjoy the taste of his breakfast the way he had a minute ago but kept on eating just to have an excuse to not answer Sherlock’s attempts at bribery.

 

“... and you are a surgeon so your hand is calm enough to….”

 

He would absolutely not tattoo Sherlock and wrap him in clingfilm afterwards. No, Sir!

 

~*~

 

“You must be kidding me!” John tried to complain but was too distracted when Sherlock let his trousers drop unceremoniously to the floor.

 

“I don’t want it to be obvious to just anyone, When it’s covered it will still be a tattoo. Everybody already thinks we are a couple so the choice is obvious and credible even if she recognizes me.”

 

~*~

This. This was one of the many times John couldn’t make sense of his life. He was feeling completely out of his depths with his head hovering centimeters from Sherlock’s groin, the panting consulting detective splayed out in front of him, only clad in a pair of purple silk pants. 

 

It didn’t take long to finish the 3 times 5 centimeter tattoo, Two hours at most and a real tattoo artist would definitely have been faster but John had tried his best to be careful and neat in the execution. And frankly, his position was distracting. He had to stop his thumb from rubbing small circles into Sherlock’s inner thigh or his gaze from wandering. At times, he even drifted off and stopped working entirely while pressing his fingers just a tad too hart into the skin he’d only meant to pull  _ just so _ to ease the way the needle was taking. Making the letters appear and seeing tiny droplets of blood exit through inked skin had him breathing fast and shallow.

 

Even though it would be covered with something different in the end. 

  
  


Leaning back, John checked his handiwork for flaws. Finding none, he applied the cool ointment and heard Sherlock sigh in relief. Trying to appear unperturbed, he let his hand glide over the slick wound for the last time. His fingers following the path the tattoo gun had taken. 

 

Without dwelling on the tenderness of his touch and Sherlock’s unusual quietness, he pulled off the gloves and started packing the equipment back into it’s case while Sherlock wrapped his thigh loosely in cling film

 

But the stark contrast of black ink on white skin had already acquired a permanent place in John’s mind. The three letters and their implication would be haunting him for the days to follow.

  
  


**JHW**

 

\-----

 

After retreating rather awkwardly to his own room in the evening, John still felt a sense of dread entering the parlor the next morning. He didn’t know why his initials on Sherlock’s pale muscular thigh made him uneasy the way it did but he had an idea it was somewhat related to possessiveness and his ranking on the Kinsey Scale.

 

The case with the tattoo equipment was nowhere to be seen but his used black gloves were still on the table where he’d left them. Straightening his back, John turned towards the kitchen where he put the kettle on and cursed the fact that there still wasn’t anything edible apart from some biscuits and honey.

 

“Sherlock?” He called before knocking on the closed bedroom door. Silence was the only answer he received. “I am going to Tesco. Want anything?”  He waited for a few seconds but heard no demands or even a hint of movement. Surprisingly relieved, John shrugged and turned the kettle off.

  
  


When he returned two hours later, Sherlock was lying on the sofa in his dressing gown and watched John’s progress as he unpacked the shopping and put it away.

 

“You know, you could actually get up and help with that.” John said in a resigned tone and mostly to himself. To his astonishment, Sherlock got up and quietly started preparing the breakfast. That wasn’t what John had meant but he appreciated it anyway. Not being hungry as hell usually put him in a better mood than he was currently in.

 

As soon as he sat down and Sherlock had placed a mug with steaming Prince Of Wales tea in front of him, John felt the tension partially drain from his body. 

 

“I contacted the tattoo artist this morning.” Sherlock stated off-handedly. “She won’t see me before it is healed to a certain degree so I made an appointment for next week.” His voice was filled with annoyance even though they both had agreed that it might take very long to finally meet with her. Tattoo artists were usually booked to the brink, especially specialised ones, and waiting times of several months were the rule. Amused, John noted that Sherlock’s name had opened a door again but that the consulting detective had apparently expected to outrank everybody else. 

 

He made a noncommittal noise and buttered his toast while he contemplated the possibility of one of Sherlock’s foul moods being on the way. Doctor-mode, then.

 

“Does it hurt a lot?” Best to be natural when trying to distract Sherlock from something. 

 

“Almost imperceptible.” The answer was accompanied by a dismissive gesture of Sherlock’s right hand. “Bit uncomfortable.” He added uncaring.

 

“Did you change the film?” Raising an eyebrow and scanning John’s face for the signs of real worry, the consulting detective took a sip of his own tea before he asked “Do you want to check on it?”. Without waiting for John to vigorously shake his head and stammer something along the lines of  _ I trust you _ , he got up and let his dressing gown fall open. When he next put his foot on John’s chair, placing it suggestively between the doctor’s legs and turning it so that is inner thigh was towards John’s face, the only thing the poor doctor was able to notice was the way the black pants rode up while stretching even tighter over Sherlock’s groin.

 

Swallowing hard, John forced his eyes to focus on the fresh tattoo that was glistening from ointment but definitely not covered with anything resembling film. Looking up into Sherlock’s face, he leant back in his chair and tried to conceal his discomposure as irritation.

“Put cling film around it, I don’t want you to get an infection. And let me finish my breakfast.” He sounded almost convincing. At least to himself. Sherlock went to his room with a satisfied smirk plastered onto his face.

 

The remaining day, John busied himself with cleaning his room, his gun and the parlor before he moved on to the kitchen. As he entered, he heard the sound of the shower. Waiting with doing the dishes to avoid stealing the hot water, John got agitated. As soon as Sherlock turned off the shower he yelled “Did you keep the wound covered?”. It made no sense, he knew. The tattoo would get turned into something else entirely, anyway. Why take care of a tattoo that shouldn’t be there in the first place?

 

“Don’t worry, John! I usually take care of my body when there’s no pressing case on.” Came the amused reply. It took John 20 minutes to clean the few dishes from their breakfast while he pondered Sherlock’s accentuation of the word ‘my’ and the implication that John was behaving strangely territorial. 

 

He wasn’t, though. He was a doctor. He was worried. Right.

  
  


~*~

 

It hurt. It did so much that Sherlock wasn’t able to block it out. The fact that having John tattoo him wasn’t exactly necessary did nothing to alleviate the constant burn on his left hip. Lestrade had only questioned the suspect twice before the seemingly obstinate man had broken down and confessed every single robbery they had accused him of.  _ That imbecile. _

 

And Sherlock still needed a cover up. On purpose, he had tattooed a little black pipe right below his left hip bone. The tattooist had already agreed to do it but he would have to choose a design until 3 days before the appointment.

 

He already knew that he would not let her get even close to his right thigh. 

 

~*~

A day later, John found out that the suspect was already in for a trial and had predictably thrown a fit over the ‘brilliant’ idea to tattoo Sherlock’s ‘flawless’ skin.

 

It was difficult for the consulting detective to get angry and defensive about John’s criticism of his methods while relishing the unintentional flattery. In the end he managed and the evening ended with banging bedroom doors and Sherlock grumbling to himself all night.

 

The next morning, John came down early and prepared their breakfast before calling for the consulting detective to join him.

 

“I am sorry.” John told his tea. “I understand that it’s you who has to live with a tattoo from now on. I shouldn’t have attacked you the way I did.” When John raised his head and looked sincerely into Sherlock’s eyes, the consulting detective decided to ignore the fight and the apology altogether.

 

“I think a violin would be a good cover up.” He proposed without ulterior motive but as John’s eyes glazed over with the image forming in his mind, he decided to exploit the topic at all costs.

“Or… what about… a pipe?”

 

“Yeah, that’s...um… fitting. I’d rather you have a pipe on your skin as a cigarette in your mouth.” John muttered lost in thought before he got aware of Sherlock’s watchful eyes on him. “What?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“What if I keep it?” Sherlock wondered aloud. His eyes were scanning John’s face and posture for signs of irritation or even anger. There were none.

 

“Keep what?” The doctor asked incredulously.

 

“Your. Initials. On. My. Flawless. Skin.” Sherlock said, getting up from his chair.Slowly, he made his way towards his bedroom to give John time while the information sank in.

  
  
  
  


John felt frozen in place. There was nothing other he could do than watch Sherlock retreat. His tongue felt heavy where it lay limp against his teeth, his fingers were tingling and he could feel his pulse in his calves. 

 

Finding the strength to actually get up only to sit down hard on the sofa again took him almost 4 minutes.  Another 6 went by while John considered the many ways Sherlock bearing his initials at this place of his body affected him.

 

John had never been particularly interested in tattoos (or people having his name on their skin) but this was Sherlock. Sherlock “ Married To My work” Holmes, who for some reason enjoyed being marked by…. no... belonging to John.

 

But what if he didn’t? What if Sherlock was having him on. It was highly unlikely in John’s opinion. A possibility, nonetheless.

 

There was only one logical course of action. The only one that always seemed to work when they were facing anything concerning emotions or sexuality. Ignore the situation entirely and wait until something happened.

 

~*~

 


	2. Deep In The Heart Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had been at an absolute loss. When he’d entered the flat it was obvious that John had made up his mind about his attraction to Sherlock and then… Well, then the consulting detective had basically acted on autopilot.

If asked, Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to explain what it was that appealed to him about wearing John’s name on his skin. Probably because, for a long time now, Sherlock saw John as belonging to him. As being his. So, of course, it just felt right that he was now marked as John’s. If it were anybody else’s initials, Sherlock would have hated the idea of being marked and would probably consider cutting the offending skin off instead of covering it with a different design. But this was John’s mark. John’s claim on him.

 

Even though he had successfully appeared cheeky and confident when he went into his room, in truth he was anything but. He had a strange feeling in his chest. A tingling sensation he usually felt when he was in immediate danger. And wasn’t he? How long had he watched John for hints of attraction? Tried to make him flustered, intrigued or even aroused with the most ridiculous cameos. A few minutes ago, John had unknowingly joined in into this dangerous game.

 

And Sherlock hadn’t even planned it. Hadn’t accounted for a shared partiality for possessive behaviour. The choice of location on his body had, admittedly, been influenced by the position it would make John have to be in. And it had been a delicious torture to suppress his physical reactions to the close proximity of the doctor’s face and touch.

 

The pain was quite helpful in that.

 

Calming down, Sherlock sat on his bed and contemplated the possible outcome of their situation. Of course, there were several but only one he hoped for and one he was horribly afraid of. It was unusual how hard it was to chose the next course of action. He couldn’t discern between a logical result of a hypothetical act or plain wishful thinking. The only thing he could do was to wait for John to present new data.

 

So waiting it was.

 

~*~

If two people decide to wait for the other to act first, what happens is… nothing.

  


The next two days went by painfully unhasty. Not on purpose, both Sherlock and John avoided each other. The weight of an oncoming éclat bearing down on every interaction, no matter how mundane, making them squirm in the presence of the other.

 

John felt glued to the sofa. The sound of the TV was a constant presence in their parlor while he attempted to take his mind off of the fact that he had nowhere to go and nowhere to be.  

 

Sherlock mostly kept himself out of 221b and busy with following people around until there was nothing left to deduce about them or they confronted him for his ‘stalking’, ‘creepiness’ or ‘awkward attempt at flirting’. Sometimes all of the three. One woman even yelled _FIRE!_ when he’d followed her around for too long. At least that gave him a reason to run for the first time in a week.

  
  


“I’m going to meet the tattoo artist tomorrow morning.” Sherlock announced, entering the parlor in a flourish of motion and causing John to sit up tensely.“ She has agreed to see me 2 days earlier.” The unspoken promise of a less strained situation only 15 hours into the future made the muscles in John’s back relax and his hands unclench.

 

Before he could reply with something insignificant like _Good._ Sherlock had already passed him by and entered the bathroom where he stood unmoving for a few moments.

 

Watching himself in the mirror, he undressed unhurriedly. When he was down to his pants he observed the way John’s initials peeked out between his legs and were partially hidden by his underwear. They still made him feel a sense of rightness. Somehow more complete than a week ago. More… just more.

 

Avoiding another glance at his reflection, Sherlock shucked his pants and let water run into the bath tub.

  
  
  


John woke up at four a.m. the next day, thoughtful and restless. Even though he was hungry, he hid in his room until he heard Sherlock leave. Fortunately, he managed to make good use of the 4 hours in between.

 

~*~

 

“You got a cover up then.” John stated, pointedly looking out of the window when Sherlock arrived home.

 

“I did.” He replied resigned while he hung his coat over the hook at the back of the still open parlor door.

 

“Can I see?” Sunlight was falling through the window and illuminating John’s form as he turned around.

 

For long seconds, Sherlock just analysed the sincere expression and seemingly determined posture of the man on the other side of the room. Finally coming to a conclusion, he closed the door behind him and began to unbutton his shirt.

 

John crossed the room without hesitation. Sherlock felt the hair in his neck raise. Panic making him falter in his movement and his jaw clench. But the shorter man just came to a halt right in front of him, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his half open dressing gown.

 

Regaining his composure, Sherlock forced his hands back into action and continued with the next button. His mind was reeling with deductions and taking note of the doctor’s telltale body language while he was desperately trying to appear unaffected himself. John’s eyes followed his every movement as more and more pale skin was revealed.

 

Still uncertain about the outcome of this encounter, Sherlock let his shirt fall open.

 

Immediately, John’s attention was focussed solely on the vibrant lilac _splash_ that was barely visible above the consulting detective’s waistband. With a short nod he prompted him to go on.

 

Having opened the cuffs on his shirt, Sherlock spared John a reassuring glance before he let it slip from his shoulders and efficiently began to unzip the fly of his black trousers. He heard a sharp intake of breath in front of him when he hooked his thumbs under the waistband.

 

“Is this…?” He asked awkwardly without knowing how to finish. _Is this OK? Is this what you want?_

Before he could make up his mind, John answered with a decisive “Yes.”.

 

Getting it over with, Sherlock pushed his pants down where their tight cut caused them to get stuck around his knees.

 

The careful touch to his thigh came as a surprise for Sherlock and made him shiver. He had expected John to ask for the colorful tattoo that was now only half hidden by his black pants but the doctor followed the lines of his initials with his index finger instead.

 

“It feels rougher than I thought.” John stated intrigued while looking up into Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“It’s not fully healed.” The detective replied in a hushed tone before he added ”But it’s soon going to be.” which earned him a fond smile. He felt the slight touch against his skin shift upwards. His breath faltered when a brush of knuckles against his scrotum was accompanied by a shy kiss on his collarbone only to leave him in a rush when John dropped to his knees in front of him.

 

Gently, the doctor’s fingers took hold of Sherlock’s pants and pulled them slowly down, removing the trousers in the same time and pushing everything to his ankles. Nervously, he closed his eyes for a few seconds in an attempt to gain control. He had to focus on something else than the thickness or length of Sherlock’s flaccid cock.

 

John looked at the exposed flesh taking up most of his field of vision and, pressing his left hand against his initials on Sherlock’s skin, he used his right to prod at the fresh tattoo beneath Sherlock’s hip bone which was covered with so called ‘second skin’.

 

The background was designed to look like lilac, purple and violet water color splashes but in the middle, adjusted to follow the line of Sherlock’s hip bone, was the chemical structure of...

                                                                                 

“Adrenaline.” John remarked grinning to himself. Entirely unhurried, he got up from his kneeling position and stretched a hand out to support Sherlock while he stepped out of his clothes.

 

It took the naked man a few seconds to understand what the gesture meant. Long enough to cause John to blush over his attempt at chivalry but before he could pull his hand away Sherlock took it.

 

Standing in their parlor with almost no space left between them made John painfully aware of his own dressing state. He was pretty sure that reciprocation was in order but that would have meant to take his eyes off of Sherlock. Something he wasn’t really able to do. So, when he felt lean hands on his shoulders and saw plush lips drawing tentatively closer, every thought about clothing deserted him.

 

~*~

 

Sherlock had been at an absolute loss. When he’d entered the flat it was obvious that John had made up his mind about his attraction to Sherlock and then… Well, then the consulting detective had basically acted on autopilot.

Only when he’d had to make a conscious decision in taking John’s hand he’d suddenly come back to himself.

 

What he’d seen right then…

The ever attentive mind at work behind deep blue eyes as John considered what to do next.

 

He didn’t know how normal people acted in situations like that. He actually doubted that people often found themselves in similar situations.

Imitating what he’d often observed on strangers, he did what would hopefully feel good and followed his body’s demands. Even before he could make the decision to follow through with this he pressed his lips to John’s as his hands found their way to the doctor’s shoulders where they started restlessly roaming the offered body beneath them.

 

Mindful of the sensitive and irritated skin on Sherlock’s hip, John helplessly held on to the taller man’s waist whose lips had just parted and moved against his. Cautiously, the doctor pulled the lithe body closer, wanting to feel all of it at once and deepening the kiss by adding just small touches of his tongue to a full lower lip. When a shudder ran down Sherlock’s spine, John felt it in his fingertips, hands and arms, as if his body was trying to drink in responses and make them it’s own.

 

The enticing glide of Sherlock’s lips against his coupled with the feeling of the desired skin, naked under his hands were affecting John more with every passing second. He quickly reverted to Sherlock’s neck where he licked and bit and for some seconds just breathed. John felt himself gradually grow hard against the consulting detective’s thigh. The knowledge of his arousal pressing against the mark he’d left on Sherlock ( _forever_ ) doing nothing to diminish his increasing want.

 

Above him, he heard little gasps and moans that eventually grew ragged when John scratched his fingernails lightly down Sherlock’s back.

 

Reluctantly, John took a step back and quickly slipped his dressing gown off to hang it loosely over the taller man’s shoulders.

 

“Wow, that’s just...Wow.” He stammered looking at his feet and noticing his obvious arousal being outlined in his pyjama pants. “Sherlock, would you… um… would you want to talk now or….”

 

In a heartbeat Sherlock pressed against him and dexterous fingers were stroking over the head of his cock, the deep voice right beside John’s ear tempting him.

 

“About what, John? You, marking me? Or me, liking it?” Sherlock’s teasing was a seductive whisper. Seductive enough that John didn’t immediately notice the hand slipping into his pants and closing around his hardness. Giving in to the sensation, he let his forehead drop against a freckled collarbone.

 

“Isn’t there something you’d rather do?” The smirk in Sherlock’s voice was audible but John could only discern the short staggering breaths throughout.

 

“A million things.” Was his honest reply.

 

“Let me guess… “ Sherlock said in his best I-know-something-you-don’t-voice and bit harshly into John’s neck. Startled, the doctor staggered backwards.

 

With hazy vision, he couldn’t do anything but watch as Sherlock let the dressing gown slip to the floor and headed to his bedroom. The detective stopped in the middle of the kitchen to note with satisfaction how John’s eyes had followed the movements of his bare arse.

 

“Coming?”

 

“God, I hope so.” John mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it over his head and hastily followed Sherlock into his room.

 

~*~

 

The same day, 08:34 a.m.

 

Sipping his tea, John realized that it was not about the tattoo. Not really. He had always wanted Sherlock. Had always quietly harboured a strong attraction to the madman who had given him back what he had lost somewhere in the afghan desert.

 

No, the tattoo was just a minor event in a bigger pile of occurrences. All these years, John had believed Sherlock’s claims of being above physical needs and emotional attachments but every so often a small piece of that facade did crumble away. Aside of the obvious proof for Sherlock’s ability to _feel,_ that for some reason was mostly obtained through female acquaintances, even his play-acts served to broaden John’s horizon on the matter.

 

Mrs. Hudson, Molly, that Adler woman, Janine… they all had had a different effect on Sherlock. Not to forget the horrid Mary-business.

 

John shook himself out of that thought. No dwelling on past mistakes.

 

Sherlock was already marked as his and there was no way John would be able to hold back any longer. Not with the way his infuriating flatmate had put the tattoo on display and let him know that he liked it’s meaning just the same way John did.

 

~*~

 

When John entered the room, Sherlock had thrown himself dramatically in the middle of his bed. Laying on his side, Sherlock tried for a seductive smile but failed somewhere along the way and kept staring at John’s bare torso, instead. It was so obviously a nervous gesture that the doctor forcefully suppressed the giddy grin that tried to overtake his face.

 

Not bothering to take off his pyjama pants, John crawled onto the bed. Carefully, he placed his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hip only to lean urgently closer to try and kiss the awkwardness away. Who knew how long Sherlock would let him get away with it.

 

Capturing Sherlock’s lips between his felt way too natural. Supporting his weight with his right arm, John let his left hand card through dark silky curls while tormentingly slow dragging his rigid cock over the pliant body beneath him. Sherlock’s mouth fell open allowing a rumbling moan to escape.

“Again.” He mumbled closing his eyes and letting his head roll to the side.

 

John grinned to himself. With precision he let just the tip of his erection glide over Sherlock’s now perceptibly hardening shaft. The movement made both men groan simultaneously before each of them strove to intensify the sensation.

Sherlock slung his arms around John’s neck and pressed up into the touch. Forcing his eyes to open, he watched the muscles in John’s arms tense as the doctor lowered almost completely onto him.  

Struggling for control over his overwhelmed body Sherlock rolled to the side, effectively pulling John with him.

Before the startled man could react, he had already pushed him onto his back and was straddling him.

 

“Don’t move.” Sherlock whispered. He still felt nervous and out of his depth. This was very much not his area so the only thing he could possibly do was to improvise. And maybe try out one or two of his rarely indulged fantasies.

 

John was watching him with rapt attention, not bothering to hide his obvious enthusiasm. To Sherlock, it was a sight to behold. He had been waiting for John to just finally _SEE_ and now… Christ. Now Sherlock had him here. In his bed. Eager.

 

Swallowing hard, Sherlock shimmied lower and knelt gingerly down on John’s ankles before he focussed all of his attention on the obvious bulge in front of him. Almost dropping forward, he bend down low to nose at the desired flesh pressing against the fabric of John’s pyjama pants.

 

When he began to mouth down the shaft he heard an unsated whine that made his hands leave the mattress and grip John’s thighs hard. This close, he could smell fresh sweat and soap. Apparently, John had showered while he was gone. Without a conscious decision, Sherlock pulled on the fabric under his hands and observed the way the movement raised John’s cock before it slipped free of it’s confines. No underwear. Interesting.

Immediately, Sherlock surged forward and sucked it between his lips. As his tongue touched the small slit at the tip, John’s left hand pushed into his hair. From the corner of his eyes, Sherlock saw the right one clutch at the blanket. Wanting John’s pleasure probably more than the man himself did, Sherlock relaxed his jaw and slid down around the length in his mouth. Without any suction, he just let it rest there while he explored the silky texture with his tongue.

Beneath him, John squirmed trying to keep from thrusting up. Agonizingly slow, Sherlock began to suck and move his head in long rhythmic motions. The tiny counter movements of John’s hips making it easy to adjust the tempo.

 

He’d never done that before. Had never even wanted to before John had entered his life. But the drawn out groan above him was a praise he enjoyed tremendously. He definitely wanted to achieve this again. Pressing his tongue hard against the underside of the hard flesh definitely worked in his favor. Amazed at his own body’s response, Sherlock struggled with the urge to touch himself.

 

The hand in his hair tightened when he used his nimble fingers to press against John’s perineum. Research really did always help.

 

“Ok. Ok, that’s… Sherlock, I’d rather not come without making it out of my knickers.” A little disappointed, Sherlock let John’s cock slip out of his mouth. Getting it over with, he pulled the offending fabric roughly off and threw it on the floor.

 

“I don’t know why you care about…” He complained mostly to himself when John pulled him roughly up and kissed him into silence. Wrapping his arms and legs around Sherlock, John grinned before whispering “Shut up and let me try something.”.

 

“Try what?” Sherlock asked before his breath left him in a rush. Grabbing his arse and kneading it for good measure, John had pressed his spit slicked shaft up against Sherlock’s remarkably interested cock.

 

“Good?”

 

“Hng…” Sherlock was beyond coherent thought for a second. Bearing down by instinct only, he managed to nod in agreement as his hands grabbed the headboard to give him more leverage.

 

With their faces being this close, it was impossible not to kiss the clever doctor into oblivion. Somewhere between languid and passionate, John’s lips were mirroring the intensity of his thrusts. Unrestrained moans interrupted their kissing with every push of skin against skin.

 

Sherlock’s experience was limited but he was pretty sure that John was enjoying himself.

 

Trying to regain his composure, the shorter man pressed hard back into the mattress. He made an obvious effort to suppress his need to press/push/pound up into another gratifying contact. With heaving breath, John finally managed to open his eyes and take a look at his stunning position. Wanting more sensory proof for the realness of the situation, he raised his head and licked over the flushed neck above him. While he still relished their shared presence in this room, this bed and this world in general, Sherlock fixed him with an unreadable gaze. Questioningly, John raised an eyebrow and waited.

 

“Can we… maybe not stop...this?” Sherlock grumbled still panting. John felt a small pang somewhere in his chest. If he remembered correctly the feeling was quite similar to happiness.

 

“Please?” Sherlock added impatiently.

 

“Of course.” John replied a little too elated, but instead of resuming his thrusts, he rolled them over so he was sitting on top of Sherlock again.

 

“Lube?” He asked, pressing a small kiss on a flushed cheekbone.

 

“Drawer.” Sherlock replied before he understood the possible implication. “John, I am not sure that…”

 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t just do THAT without asking you first.” John said smiling. He came to kneel over Sherlock again where he caught the detective’s attention by generously covering both their cocks with lube. Pulling Sherlock’s arm up from where it lay beside his thigh, John indicated for him to take hold of them. Entwining the fingers around hot flesh, Sherlock marveled at the cosmic fortune that had placed their dominant hands opposite each other.

 

The only warning was a slow lick of his lips before John began to move their joined hands. Setting a steady rhythm around their strained lengths, he leaned down and, supporting his weight with his right arm, let his forehead rest against Sherlock’s. The world around the seemed to shrink until it involved nothing but the room surrounding them and their bodies on the bed. The added slickness made it unbelievably more difficult for Sherlock to keep on watching as John moved his lower body in small fluent thrusts. He felt the strong thighs tense and silky skin glide over his cock. The sensory overload was glorious in a way that had Sherlock gasping and wriggling underneath the skilled doctor.

 

Mimicking the experienced man, Sherlock began to push up into the tightness and delightful friction. With a sigh, John gave him a soft kiss before he raised his body to heighten the pressure he could put in each thrust. With closed eyes and his head hanging low, John upped the pace significantly.

 

For long moments, Sherlock was somewhere between _This is not enough_ and _This should never end_. John was apparently either less affected or better at controlling himself for he didn’t falter once in his rhythm while Sherlock found it increasingly difficult to not just follow the urge to desperately rut against sweaty flushed skin.

 

Just as he came to the conclusion that he would horribly embarrass himself if he gave into his body’s need, John opened his eyes.

 

“Sherlock! I don’t know how much longer…” He wasn’t able to finish.

As soon as Sherlock understood, he loosened his fingers enough to slip from John’s grasp. Chasing satisfaction in a way he had never before and at the same time rubbing against John’s leaking cock, he urgently pushed into his tight grip.

 

He felt as if all control had deserted him, his sole focus on his own pleasure. John had let himself fall forward, barely catching himself with both arms on either side of Sherlocks head. His harsh breath tickled the skin of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder as he leant down and captured the freckled skin between his teeth and came in drawn out pulses between them.

 

Sherlock felt the bruising bite in his neck before warm come covered his chest and hand. The throb of John’s cock against his and the growl pressed into his bruising skin where pushing Sherlock into a fierce all-encompassing orgasm.

 

_Who would have thought?_

  
  


~*~

 

John barely managed to unclench his jaw and release Sherlock’s skin before he rolled blissfully off of his equally sated bed-mate.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suppose there is an epiloge in order. Hope you liked the porn with feelings. More Tattoo!lock ahead. If you spot mistakes (and I am sure you will) let me know.


	3. A Part Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was not one to dwell on the softer emotions but, as Sherlock liked to point out, he was a romantic man.

  
  


Waking up with John Watson was, what Sherlock would call, a rather unique sensation. Aside of the fact that it was unusual in itself that Sherlock slept during the day, that was. 

 

As he slowly blinked his eyes open, he noticed two things. The first was the distinct lack of sunlight in his room. The lamp was lit on his bedside table. The second, and more important one, was the cool air causing goose bumps on his thigh. His wet inner thigh. 

 

Looking down at himself, he saw John kneeling between his legs and slowly licking over the stark black tattoo he’d put there. The doctor’s hands were resting on his waist while he seemed to appreciate his handiwork in a most singular way. When John looked up, their eyes met over Sherlock’s still naked body.

 

“How long?”

 

“ 5 hours.” John said with a satisfied grin. “I think, I found a way to get you to rest.”

 

Sherlock sat up, his eyes scanning the room/John/himself. Clearly assessing the situation.

 

“You are still here.” He stated stiffly.

 

“Well, obviously.” John replied, sitting up on his heels. “ Should I have…. Did you want me to leave?” Anxiety was flooding his whole body. He felt his stomach cramp and and his head spin. His hands found the blanket underneath him and began to clench around the soft fabric.

 

“John.” Sherlock said in a commanding voice. “Breath! I was just not expecting you to… be willing to…”

 

Silence stretched between them. Two naked men, looking at each other and trying to find a way to proceed. Sherlock held himself very very still as he watched John’s mind work through possibilities and tactics while the tension left his body bit by bit.

 

After some minutes, John looked up at him, apparently having decided on a course of action.

 

“Why the tattoo?” He asked, pointing at the colorful skin on Sherlock’s hip.

 

“Had something to cover.” Came the short reply.

 

“Can we not do this this time, Sherlock?” John drawled, sounding tired and a bit agitated.

 

Looking at the raised shoulders and crossed arms that were effectively covering John’s groin, Sherlock took a deep breath.

 

“I needed a tattoo, so I would get an appointment and with it the proof that the suspect was indeed the serial robber. I had you tattoo my thigh. You finished and I realized I rather liked your name on my skin. You went to bed and I took the equipment to my room. I still needed a tattoo to cover. So I put one on my hip. Unfortunately that weak excuse for a criminal wasn’t able to make it through more than one interrogation before confession every thing since age 3. But now I had the tattoo. So…” He concluded in annoyance, raising his eyebrows in a here-we-are expression.

  
  


Fighting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness and biting his lower lip, John looked at his initials between Sherlock’s legs.

“Ok…” He nodded to himself. “Why do you like this one?” Carefully, he put his hand on the marked skin. 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock said, trying to evade an answer.

 

“Just pretend it wasn’t.” John pressed on but he already felt himself unwind again.

 

“I…” The thumb sliding lightly over the bow of the letter J was a welcome distraction to Sherlock but John still held his gaze in expectation of an answer.

 

“You put it there. Your initials in this suggestive area of my body. I liked the meaning. Even if it had none to you.” He admitted, forcing his voice not to waver. 

 

“But it did.” John added allowing affection and more, probably too much, to show on his face.

 

“As it would seem.” Sherlock said, his voice lowering to a whisper.

 

Apparently satisfied, John let his hands wander up and down Sherlock’s legs, obviously planning his next attack on the tempting body.

 

“So, you don’t want to talk about  _ feelings  _ or something like that?” Sherlock asked .

 

“God, no. Do you?” John said, slowly bending down while holding the detective’s gaze.

 

“No.” Relief was palpable in the consulting detective’s voice.

 

“Good.” John just remarked before licking up Sherlock’s soft length.

 

Being a solid 2 on the Kinsey scale had mentally prepared John for such an act but he was still feeling nervous about the practical side of it all. He had long learned that not every fantasy is worth indulging in. Kneading Sherlock’s thighs with his hands while licking and nibbling his cock to hardness was… not horrible. In fact,  John found it just as gratifying as pleasing a woman but with the reward of deep rumbling encouragement. 

 

Experimentally, he added his hand to the sensation, carefully tugging at the sensitive skin covering Sherlock’s testicles. The reaction was instantaneous but only partly the way John had anticipated. He felt the flesh underneath his tongue lift towards him, silky skin over hard stiffness, as the legs right and left of him were pressing against him. The next second, Sherlock scrambled backwards into a sitting position before leaving the bed in a hurry.

 

“Give me six minutes!” He demanded before vanishing into the bathroom. John let his body fall to the side in frustration, muttering  _ Appetizing prick! _ into the sheet.

 

Impatiently, John listened to the sound of running water and tried to not follow Sherlock into the bathroom. Not for the remaining 4 minutes anyway. But if he’d take only one minute longer…. John didn’t even have a clock but he was fairly sure that Sherlock was back sooner than promised.

 

Walking into the room with stray droplets of water on his chest and stomach, Sherlock indicated for John to sit up at the foot of the bed.

The consulting detective knelt in front of him and let his thumb press into John’s scar before closing his hand over the doctor’s shoulder and pulling him forward for a shy but languid kiss.

Before John remembered how to open his eyes, Sherlock lay down on his back with his legs on either side of him, assuming his former position with ease.

 

“Ok.” John commented, not knowing what to make of the earlier intermission. Following Sherlock’s lead (as usual), he leaned down and pressed a teasing kiss on the tip of the detectives length.

The smell of expensive shower foam filled his nostrils as realisation set in.

 

“Oh.” He breathed onto an unmarked hip bone. Without remark, Sherlock placed a bottle of lube beside John’s hand.

 

“We don’t have to. You know? Not that I don’t want to, but…” 

 

“Stop babbling, John.” Sherlock interrupted him rudely before softly adding “I want it.”

 

Nodding vigorously, John squeezed a rather generous amount of lube onto his hand.

 

For a few seconds he was at a total loss on how to proceed. His eyes darted around between his hand, Sherlock’s naked groin and the grey eyes watching him as his hand was pulled forward and tentatively splayed out over the detective’s slightly engorged cock. Automatically, John closed his hand around it and spread the lube in a most practical fashion. Longer than necessary, he moved his hand up and down Sherlock’s shaft and watched the lean body relax into the mattress. As soon as he took his hand away, the detective continued on his own. Pleasuring himself unhurried and without modesty. 

 

Nervously, John let his fingers slip into the cleft between Sherlock’s cheeks, gently probing while lustfully watching Sherlock.

 

This was much safer terrain for him. Being a doctor and all. But still… This was Sherlock offering himself to John in a pretty romantic way. 

Of course, John would never say so and Sherlock would never admit to it. 

 

The tip of his index finger was moving in circles around the tight entrance. A gentle massage meant to introduce the sensation of touch. 

 

“It’s not surprising that you are always at work the whole day if you need that long for a prostate exam, John.” Sherlock complained, startling the doctor out of his revery. With Sherlock panting in between, it was difficult for John to muster up the strength to be offended. He knew very well that the consulting detective only wanted to get rid of his nervosity and that meant to come to the point rather quickly.

 

Without further ado, John pushed his index finger through the loosened ring of muscles until it slipped fully inside the tight opening. Sherlock’s breath quickened marginally while the hand on his cock slowed down.

Waiting for a confirming nod, John began to pull out slowly. A deep groan prompted him to push back in again before his finger was even halfway out. 

 

“You ever done this before?” John asked in a hushed voice.

 

“Not with somebody else.” Sherlock answered between moans. His head was resting on the cushion now as he tried not to look at John pressing his finger in and out in a steady rhythm. When the doctor carefully added a second finger, he pressed back against the moving digits. He knew the burn the stretch caused. He welcomed it. When he indulged on his own like that, he rarely had the patience to let his body get used to it.

 

John was still trying to process this new piece of information and the images it brought along when he curled his fingers downwards.

 

“Yes. Good.” Sherlock sighed, pressing his heels hard into the mattress. With an appreciative tilt of his mouth, John decided that he could work with that.

 

Sherlock hadn’t accounted for it to feel this… intense. Never had he even considered having someone else do this to him. Of course, John. Yes. John. But he had always thought that it would be different. Not as good. 

 

Right here in this moment, he realized that not being in control, not foreseeing the next touch/wriggle/thrust, was the real stimulus. Sherlock had a hard time not allowing his body to fall for John’s ministrations. This was only the beginning of a long cherished fantasy and he wouldn’t let his transport sabotage the real thing. 

 

He felt a third finger probing at his entrance while the other two still moved inside him. However John did that was beyond him but he couldn’t care less.

 

“John.” The doctor’s hand stopped in his tracks. “If you don’t mind. I’d rather have a different part of you now.”

 

The doctor was very much inclined, Especially that ‘different part’. He had been so focussed on pleasuring Sherlock that his own, by now leaking arousal, hadn’t been on his agenda at all. Pulling his fingers out, he used the leftover lube in his palm to give his hard length an experimental tug and immediately decided to leave it at one. Reassuring himself, he recalled the last time he had them both tested after a potentially toxic case. Good.

 

Sherlock watched him as he positioned himself and pressed the tip of his cock against the widened entrance.

 

Resting his hand on a claimed thigh, John began to press in. He was fairly certain that Sherlock’s body was not as well prepared for the intrusion as it could have been. Torturously slow and pressing down on the detective’s lithe body to stop him from wriggling, John drove his hips forward. Already biting his lips in effort, he felt the head move past the tight ring of muscles. With a groan, John paused to get used to the fierce sensation and give Sherlock’s body time to adjust. Even if the man in question was not willing to allow his body a break. Still holding him in an iron grip, John made him wait.

 

Mentally preparing himself, he took a deep breath and tensed his muscles before he pushed forward again. His eyes stayed on Sherlock’s face, partly to observe possible signs of pain but more for his own sake. With his eyes closed the stimulation would have been impossible to handle.

 

It had been a long time since John had had anal sex. Never with a man, though. And never with somebody important to him. Although that wasn’t true. It was just that in comparison to Sherlock everybody else lost relevance.

 

Sherlock was getting restless underneath him. It was obvious in the way he threw his head back. In the way he gripped the cushion with his left hand and John’s forearm with his right. John saw all these things while he clung to his self control and already knew that, in the end, it was a lost cause. He had wanted for so long and now he was able to take. But first he would give.

 

He was not one to dwell on the softer emotions but, as Sherlock liked to point out, he was a romantic man. 

 

John felt rather than saw Sherlock noticing the moment he was fully seated insight him. Tension was leaving him momentarily and a shudder ran down his thighs. Bending forward for a kiss, John pushed Sherlock’s legs up against his chest at the same time. Softly, he captured the full lips between his own before pressing a peck on a flushed cheek bone.

 

Pulling back with his hips, he felt the firm drag around his length and heard Sherlock moan into his ear. The detective’s hands were holding on to his waist as he pushed in again. Sherlock’s head fell back into the cushion, his feet pressed into John’s thighs as he pulled him closer. When their eyes met, John licked his lips through a laboured breath.

 

“Alright?” The doctor whispered hopefully.

 

“Decidedly.” Sherlock sighed.

 

With another peck, this time on Sherlock’s lips, John began to move in earnest. 

 

The feeling of utter fullness was almost entirely pleasant but when the first long thrusts began to graze his prostate, Sherlock was flooded with relief. He relished John’s strong certain motions and cobalt blue eyes that seemed designed to please him. Gradually, the sensation increased. John was upping the pace but it was obvious that he held back. His sighs were just as controlled as his movements.

 

Sherlock pushed back into every thrust. He doubted that he would ever stop wanting John deeper. He wanted everything John could give to him. Looking up at the concentrated face and glassy eyes, he dug his fingers into John’s buttocks.

 

“Harder, John. Harder is good.” A request coupled with a simple statement but spoken in the most sensual voice John had ever encountered.

 

Immediately, John obliged. Pushing his hands under Sherlock’s upper body and hooking them around angular shoulders, he pulled back as far as possible without allowing his cock to slip out completely.

 

With his upper body hovering over Sherlock’s and his tummy pressing down on sensitive hardness, John shoved deep into the detective’s tight heat.

 

“Oh, fff....” He commented eloquently as his breath left him in a rush. Not having a choice, John pulled back and repeated the motion. He clenched his eyes shut. The onslaught of stimulation, Sherlock’s appreciative groans and the pale man’s flushed face simply too much to handle.

 

Pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s collarbone, John let go. The only focus of his mind on the feeling around his cock and making sure to give Sherlock enough friction, as well. The lube that had already vanished to a degree now being replaced by their combined sweat.

 

Sherlock was just trying to keep his head out of it. And it was easier than he’d expected. Especially after John pulled one of his hands from his body and, entwining their fingers, pushed it into the mattress beside Sherlock’s head. A romantic gesture that was both unnecessary and appreciated. Sherlock didn’t do this with just anyone because he only trusted John to know and care for what it meant to him. He had gotten  _ involved _ and it was no mistake.

 

Gently, he kissed John’s temple as he noticed the first signs of orgasm in the doctor’s movements. The feeling of John’s shaft as it thickened inside of him and the faltering breath against his neck drawing his attention to the way sweaty skin rubbed over his own cock.

 

Pressing his head into the doctor’s shoulder, Sherlock felt arousal unfurl in his guts His thighs tensed were they pressed into John’s hips as he sealed his eyes shut and listened to their quickening combined moans.

 

John’s stiffening body and a heartfelt whimper above him were all it took for Sherlock to take the fall. His body clenched around John’s still throbbing cock, his right hand pressing bruises into wheat-colored skin as he spent himself between them.

 

He felt John pushing into him with effort, apparently attempting to be engulfed as long as possible. Carefully, Sherlock uncramped is hand and began moving it soothingly over John’s back. Why, he didn’t know. It just felt like the right thing to do. 

 

It was not a comfortable position but they held it for a long time. 

 

There was no reason to leave the bed and Sherlock couldn’t imagine finding one in the near future.

 

~*~

  
  
  


“Where were you?” Sherlock asked agitatedly when John carried the groceries into the kitchen. Raising the bags a bit higher and his eyebrows as well.

 

“Oh no, John! You have been gone for at least 6 hours. The amount of food you brought only explains one of them.” He stated, stepping into the doctor’s personal space and looking down at him. Nonchalant, John put the bags on the counter.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock let his gaze wander over the shorter man’s figure.

 

“Show me your arm.” Holding his gaze, John pushed his right sleeve up.

 

“The other one, John.” Sherlock said with an amused smirk.

 

Blushing despite himself, John pushed the left sleeve up to reveal a black and grey tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

 

Sherlock stared at it for several seconds. Following the line of a pronounced S that was wound around the upper left and lower right side of a violin, crossing the instrument in the middle. The strings were neat straight lines of which the both outer ones had been tattooed just a tad thicker than the other two. And of course, the lower end of the fingerboard throwing a stark shadow that served as the bridge in the letter H.

 

John opened his mouth to deliver a cool explanation for his choice of tattoo but didn’t get far enough to utter a single syllable. With a firm shove, Sherlock pressed him against the counter and kissed him hard while his hands slipped under John’s woolen jumper.

 

“Brilliant, John!” Sherlock murmured into John’s ear as he crowded close and began to suck a bruise into the doctor’s pulse point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. The 3000 word One Shot I had planned. Hope you liked it. It's still unbetaed as hell.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have interesting ideas for the 2nd chapter let me know!  
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
